


Who Needs Blankets?

by imaginary_golux



Category: Tarzan - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 04:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17860697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: For the February Ficlet Challenge prompt "There's only one bed."Tarzan shows off the treehouse cabin his parents built. There is a distinct - and fortunate - lack of guest bedroom.Beta by my Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.





	Who Needs Blankets?

“Ah,” says Jane, blinking around at the - really very nice - treehouse that Tarzan is proudly showing her. “There’s...only one bed?”

“Yes?” Tarzan says, looking confused. “Do humans not…” he trails off, groping for words.

“Not?” Jane nudges gently.

“Not sleep -” Tarzan gestures with his hands, as though piling them up. “For warmth?”

“Oh!” Jane says. “Ah. No. Not...among my people, anyway.”

“Oh,” Tarzan says, looking crestfallen. Jane considers the matter carefully for all of - oh - three seconds, and then shrugs to herself. She’s alone in the jungle with a man raised by apes. She can’t exactly get any _more_ scandalous.

“I don’t see why _we_ couldn’t,” she says, and Tarzan beams.

*

Tarzan, it turns out, really does just mean _sleeping_. He’s like a particularly warm and very heavy blanket draped over her. It’s...oddly comfortable, actually, once Jane squirms around until she finds a position where they seem to just _fit_ together, slotted against each other like spoons in a drawer. She’s still in her chemise, of course, but there’s something oddly relaxing about the weight and warmth of him, the sheer _closeness_ of another person. She sort of wants to stay like this forever - until dawn might be barely long enough.

Tarzan makes a little snuffling noise and wriggles closer, his breath warm on her throat, and Jane, feeling greatly daring, reaches up with the hand not trapped between them to run her fingers over his hair. It’s surprisingly clean - well, all of Tarzan is surprisingly clean, for a man who lives in a jungle - and soft beneath her fingers, and Tarzan hums a little in what sounds like contentment, not waking.

Ordinarily, the night sounds of the jungle are a little terrifying for Jane. She can’t identify most of them, and the ones she _can_ identify tend to be things like the hunting roars of large cats, which are hardly reassuring. But with Tarzan draped over her - he’s better than a duvet, it’s amazing - she can listen without fear, somehow trusting that if something dangerous _did_ get close, he would be awake immediately. She’s seen him do that, go from fast asleep in some unlikely position, draped over a camp chair or a tree trunk, to upright and ready to defend himself - or her - in what seems to her startled eyes like far less than a single breath.

So she’s safe, and she’s warm, and Tarzan’s slow breathing is remarkably soothing, and even if she kind of wants to stay awake and savor this strange, peaceful comfort - well, that’s not happening.

*

Jane wakes up to Tarzan stretched out next to her, watching her like she’s the most marvelous thing in the world, which is always a little embarrassing and also sort of flattering.

“There’s something to be said for sleeping in a heap for warmth,” she says, smiling at him. Tarzan beams.

“How do you sleep at home?” he asks.

“Just one person to a bed, usually,” Jane says. “Unless you’re married.”

“That sounds lonely,” Tarzan says. Then, startling her badly, “Does sleeping together mean we’re married?”

“Ah,” says Jane. “...No. There’s a little more to it than that.”

“Like what?” Tarzan asks, all endless cheerful curiosity.

Jane could give him a long explanation of religion, and contracts, and the history of marriage. She could talk about church ceremonies and white dresses and Queen Victoria, about dowries and coverture and wedding rings. Tarzan would listen eagerly, and ask questions, and be perfectly happy with her answer.

Jane takes her courage in both hands and says, “Like kissing, for instance.”

“Kissing?” Tarzan asks, and Jane reaches up to pull him close, heavy and warm and lovely, and cups his face in her hands, and says, “Like this.”

Given that it’s _her_ first kiss, too, she thinks it goes pretty damn well.


End file.
